


Kindly One

by beccaelizabeth



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-02-01
Updated: 1998-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:11:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccaelizabeth/pseuds/beccaelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having heard what Duncan did to his student, someone gets really really annoyed.</p><p>My first Highlander fic, from 1998.  You have been warned.</p><p>Co-written by Adrianna Pita hlgirl@hotmail.com  [an email address that hasn't answered for a long time]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindly One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Usual stuff. Highlander and everyone from it belong  
> to the dudes that made them up, Richie belongs to the Clan Denial  
> until they promise to play nice with him back at the original owners,  
> anyone you do not recognise I probably made up. Anyone who  
> knows me who thinks they recognise themselves, sorry its not   
> intentional. Usually.  
> This is set at some vague time a while after Archangel and all  
> that baton twirling I read about (Surely one of you made this up just  
> to tease those of us who won't see it for years. No? Then the  
> writers definitely lost it). Although usually I totally deny Archangel   
> ever happened, and I write happy little stories where the worst that   
> happens to Richie is people dumping him, temporarily killing him or   
> blowing up his bike, this one assumes he is actually dead, and Duncan   
> killed him, and is now swanning around as if it never happened and he   
> got over it. Yeah, like. I usually like Duncan, but some things are   
> unforgivable. So...
> 
> And this is my first real fanfic, so I clambered on board to make sure   
> Duncan didn't get too badly mauled by the goddesses of revenge. (it's   
> not his fault TPTB are dumb SOB'S!)....
> 
> Feedback to beccaelizabeth or  
> Adrianna Pita hlgirl@hotmail.com [which has long since stopped getting an answer]
> 
> Try to guess who wrote what. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Posted to this archive without permission from co-writer because I can't find if they exist any more. But permission to archive on other sites, including my now non-existent geocities place, was received.

It was a cold dark evening in Paris. Duncan MacLeod was walking  
home trying not to think about the events that happened two years ago  
when he saw her. A tall woman in a tan raincoat, with her long red  
hair in two braids down her back. She stood there on the corner quite  
nonchalantly, her fifteenth century side-ring sword held loosely  
in one hand. It was a street MacLeod often walked down. He  
concluded she was probably waiting for him. Checking his coat for the  
reassuring presence of his katana, he kept walking towards her.

As he felt her buzz, she looked around, obviously sensing him  
too. Her face hardened to blank hatred as she recognised him. Then  
she stood, made sure he was watching, turned and walked down the  
alley behind her. An obvious invitation. MacLeod decided to take her  
up on it.

He stepped into the alley with his sword drawn and on guard in  
front of him, paused for a moment to adjust to the dimmer light. She  
stood a few yards away, one hand with her sword loosely in front of  
her, the other by her side, casually hidden in the folds of her  
raincoat. A gun? But if she had wanted to shoot him she could have done   
it before now. He took a few steps towards her.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." He declared.

"No, you are just a murdering bastard." She said calmly, and  
brought her hand around to reveal a crossbow. As the bolt thudded into  
his chest he recognised her voice. Tisiphone.

***

She strolled nonchalantly out of the alley, hooking her sword  
and her small hand crossbow back into her coat. Then she walked over to   
the pay phone on the corner and dialled an obviously familiar  
number,including the international prefix from habit even though it was   
for right there in Paris. It only rang a couple of times before it  
was picked up.  
"Hello, Adam Pierson speaking."

"Hi, Adam, it's me. I'm in Paris." she said, keeping an eye out  
in case anyone should happen along.

"Erin! When did you get back in town? It's been too long."

"Listen, I'd really love to see you again, talk some things over, but  
I don't have time to chat right now."

"Running out of change? I'll call you.."

"No. MacLeod's dead in an alley a couple of blocks away from his  
place. You might want to come over here and pull the arrow out.  
Then again, you might want to just take his head and save us all a  
lot of hassle." Erin finished crisply, and hung up on Methos' stunned  
silence.

***

MacLeod sat up with a gasp. "Tisiphone.." he said, looking  
around wildly as he sensed another immortal and grabbing for his   
sword,then noticing that Methos held it, along with the arrow he had  
obviously just pulled from his chest.

"She's gone." Methos told him, offering him his katana now he  
was sure he knew who he would be using it on.

MacLeod took it and got up, unconsciously rubbing at his neck.   
"Did you see her? She's been phoning for weeks, telling me all my  
sins are catching up with me. She was waiting on the street with a  
sword. I thought she was going to challenge me. Then she shoots me.   
It's lucky you came along or she would have my head by now."

"So someone calling herself after an avenger from Greek  
mythology has been phoning you for weeks and it didn't occur to you to   
mention it?"

"Why bother? It's just another Immortal crackpot after my head."

"Some of whom have been known to threaten your friends to get to  
you."

"I've been keeping an eye on things. I can look after myself."

"Yes, of course you can." Methos said, and looked down at the  
arrow he was holding.

Flashback- 986 CE, Europe  
&lt;=====

Methos looked down at the arrow he had just pulled from the tree  
trunk next to his head and sighed. And to think he had hoped  
for a few years of quiet boredom hanging around with Nicholas. The  
man was certainly boring enough, although a bit too enthusiastic.   
Methos had been hoping for a lazy afternoon next to the fire, but   
Nicholas had insisted he come on this little ride in the woods.

He noticed there was a small note tied neatly around the shaft,  
so he pulled it off read it.

'Nicholas- her spirit grieves for her unborn babe. Think you  
that ghosts are swayed by money? Tisiphone.'

"Give me that." Nicholas said gruffly and snatched the note.   
He read it, lips moving as he puzzled it out, then crumpled it up  
and threw it into the bushes.

"Nicholas..?"

"You will not speak of it. It is nothing. Come, there should  
be a good meal waiting for us by now." Nicholas replied, and rode  
off.

So the arrow had been meant for Nicholas. He wasn't exactly  
surprised. A man with an attitude like that made enemies.   
Methos' friend sometimes seemed to confuse his noble birth with a right   
to be as objectionable and arrogant as he liked. Unfortunately with his   
wealth and power he could remain under the illusion he was  
popular anyway. If it weren't for his habit of handing out free beer  
Methos would never have stayed long.

But the content of the note was puzzling. Not just what they  
said, but how they signed themselves. Who in this time and this  
backward bit of the world even knew of Greece, let alone cared for it's   
mythology?

He started to ride off, more slowly than his angry acquaintance,  
and then the buzz hit him. An Immortal. Well, that explained some  
things. Methos was in no mood to fight, let alone play target  
for an Immortal with a bow, so he put his heels to his horse and  
galloped for the shelter of Nicholas' hall.

In the days following this incident Methos noticed Nicholas  
become more and more disturbed. He no longer went on rides in his  
woods. He stamped around with a scowl on his face, coming out of his  
room less often and in a worse mood when he did. He jumped at  
shadows, and some people whispered that they had caught him talking to  
his wife and son, dead now for more than a year. Then one night at  
supper he cut open a pie and found a tiny rolled up note inside.  
With trembling hands he reached in, unrolled it, and read the  
single word thereon. 'Soon'.

He ran from the hall calling "Ellie, forgive me! Forgive me!"  
over and over, and barricaded himself in his own room.

Right then Methos had a pretty good idea of where to look for  
the Immortal whose presence had often nagged at the edges of his  
awareness but who had never shown themselves. As soon as his  
absence would not be noted, he headed out to the kitchens.

There a young looking woman busy washing up, who had arrived  
recently with nowhere to go and been given this menial job, got a sudden   
dizzy spell and excused herself to go outside for some air.

She emerged from the kitchens just as Methos was about to enter,  
her shawl wrapped around something long and probably sharp. She  
recognised him, and gestured to the yard behind the stables,  
empty and quiet while the stable hands were at their supper.

"I'm not here to challenge you." Was the first thing she said.   
Her sword stayed wrapped up, lending some credence to her words.

"Then why are you here?" Methos asked, hand resting on sword,  
still wary.

She looked at him a moment, seeming to try and judge what kind  
of man he might be. She nodded at whatever judgement she had come to,  
and replied with a question of her own. "Do you know what happened  
to the Lady of the house and her babe?"

"They died in childbirth." he replied. It was common  
knowledge, along with gossip on who Nicholas would wed next.

"Ah yes, the official story. But the midwife they ran out of  
town told it a different way. Seems when she was called here the  
Lady was covered in bruises, new and old, and one of her ribs was  
cracked. The child was coming early, and he never started breathing. A   
tragedy, but it happens. Seems her Lord wouldn't see it that  
way. The midwife saw him start to yell at his wife and shake her,  
then he remembered the audience and ordered the midwife thrown off his  
lands. The next day they announced the tragic deaths."

Methos thought about the story. With what he knew of his fr-  
no, he wouldn't call him a friend again, from what he knew of Nicholas'   
temper it could quite well be true. Even so..

"So, what of that concerns one of our kind?"

"Maybe you while away your eternity drinking beer and waiting  
for the next fight, but some of us find something more constructive to  
do. I am that I am for a purpose."

"To play the fury in the affairs of mortals?"

"To avenge those who have no others to stand up for them. Not  
many women in these times have a chance should a man raise a hand to  
them. Not many children either. But I can do something, to those that  
go too far. Like the bastard in yon castle, shut away hiding from  
the ghosts in his guilty conscience."

"Hiding from you more like. What are you waiting for, haven't  
had another clear shot?"

"Oh, I don't kill them. Not usually. I teach them. Then...  
well, sometimes they end up dead." she shrugged and slipped a hand  
into the folded shawl for her sword. "So, think you to challenge me  
to protect your friend?"

"No friend of mine." Methos replied. "I'll be gone tomorrow."

"Good. In future, try to pick your friends more carefully."   
she told him, and went back to the kitchens.

By morning, she had disappeared, and Nicholas was dead. Hung  
with his own belt in a room it took the servants hours to break into.   
But still, Methos wondered.

=====&gt;

Back in the present day, Methos looked up across the alley at  
his friend Duncan MacLeod and wondered. Erin did not tend to go off  
half cocked. Mac was going to start having a very bad time. And  
Methos?

He threw the arrow in the junk at the side of the alley and  
sighed. "Come on, we'll go have a beer and you can fill me in. Maybe  
I'll recognise her style, know something that might help."

"And maybe you'll just empty the fridge again. All right then,  
I owe you at least a few beers." MacLeod said, led him home.

But in the hours they talked before he left, Methos never once  
mentioned the name Erin.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As Methos approached his own front door the buzz of another  
Immortal hit him. Another * old * Immortal. He had a pretty good idea   
who that would be.

He pulled out his sword and carefully edged open the door. It  
was dark inside. The light did not respond when he threw the  
switch, so only the flickering uncertain glow of a candle lit the place.   
He crept forward carefully, trying to look everywhere at once.

"How you doing, ancient one? Have a beer." Erin said from the  
sofa, throwing him a bottle. He lowered his sword and caught it.

"Mine, I suppose."

"In a roundabout sort of way. You introduced me to the brewery,  
I still owe you a couple of bottles. Thought I'd settle it now."

Methos walked around and sat on the other end of the sofa,  
propping his sword up next to him and opening the bottle. It was a  
rather good little speciality brew he had told her about right after  
the last world war. "I remember these. Thanks." he took a long  
drink and savoured the taste a moment, wondering quite where to begin.  
Maybe she would make it easy for him.

"You need a new bulb in here. Lucky for you I'm still in the  
habit of carrying candles." she drank a mouthful of her beer. "You,  
me, good beer, candle light. Just like old times."

No, she wouldn't make it easy. But then she never had.

"Erin... MacLeod." he said simply.

"Yeah, the bastard of the year." Erin replied.

"So you're down to one a year?"

"Oh, not usually. But this sod is going to take work."

How to make this quite clear? "Erin, drop it. Now. He doesn't  
deserve one of your lessons."

She was silent for a moment, took another drink of beer.   
"Doesn't deserve?" she said very quietly.

Methos recognised the tone. He casually dropped his hand down  
onto his sword again. Not that Erin had ever shown the inclination,  
but if she did with her skill he could be in trouble.

"Duncan MacLeod is my friend. He's a good man. He doesn't beat  
up kids or women, he doesn't sell land mines, he isn't your usual  
target."

"Doesn't hurt kids does he? Oh no. Just kills them. But I  
forget, Ryan was legally adult by the time MacLeod succeeded, wasn't  
he?" Erin said, looking round into his eyes, her tone very dangerous.

Damn. She knew. Of course she knew. By this stage in the game  
she would know everything down to MacLeod's shoe size. So, that  
approach wouldn't work. "I assume you have something to teach me too?"

"Oh don't worry, Methos, you aren't really my pupil this time.   
In fact I rather hoped you'd be one of the teachers. Or at least  
the one that cleans the board when the lesson is done."

"I won't take Mac's head."

"Well that's painfully obvious. What I cannot figure out is  
why."

"He's my friend. He's been through some bad times recently. I  
stand by him."

"He's been * through * some bad times? More like he's * been *  
some bad times. Methos, the man is a lunatic at best. From where  
I'm standing he looks more like a complete bastard. Have you  
counted how many heads he has taken these past few years? How many   
people he has killed? People who called him friend?"

"Sean Burns? Mac was controlled by a Dark Quickening."

"Like all the good things Darius did were because of the Light  
Quickening? He was responsible for his actions. No Quickening  
can change ones fundamental nature. When he went for his student's  
head that time it was his own idea. Or else why had he tried  
before."

"You're twisting things. The Dark Quickening pushed him into  
doing things he would never otherwise do. And before that he never  
attacked Richie on purpose."

"No, before that it was because he was seeing things, or just  
for practice, or to train him. Listen to it Methos. Listen to the  
catalogue of rationalisations the man comes up with and see them  
for what they are. It wasn't him, it was the demon, the drink, for  
the kids own good. The man is just the kind of bastard who beats up  
on his kid and makes out it's the world's fault."

"Your own personal nightmare."

"Damn right." she took another gulp of beer and tried to pull  
herself together as memories of pain flashed through her eyes.

"Not right. Not about Duncan. There are excuses and  
rationalisations and justifications, and then there are reasons.  
Duncan MacLeod has always had good reasons."

"Oh sure. And his good reason for taking his own son's, his own  
student's life?"

"There was a demon. It tricked him into killing Richie, but he  
beat it later."

"You think this is news to me? You know I do better research  
than that. You should also know that the only demons I believe in  
are the ones that eat at the human heart. But lets take it as a  
hypothesis for now. You say he beat it?"

"Yes. He was the champion. The only one who could defeat it.   
He faced and killed it last year."

"Killed, huh? You judge this demon beat by the fact that  
MacLeod walked away and it did not? That's not the way such creatures  
keep score. Demons are after * souls * Methos, not lives, not  
bodies, not even heads. Whatever happens on the outside doesn't count   
for anything. It's the heart, the mind, the soul that is won or  
lost. The demon was not redeemed, so it was not beaten. And MacLeod  
fell, pretty bloody irredeemably in my book. Way I figure it, the  
demon won the moment MacLeod swung his sword. Either the Highlander  
would repent and kill himself, clearing the way for some bastard to be  
the One, or he would get over it, just live with what he had done  
and forgive himself for it, rationalise the action somehow, and keep  
going. Then even if he is the One, darkness wins."

"Duncan is not an evil man."

"Oh of course not. Why you can tell just by looking at him!  
Swanning around in white like dirt wouldn't dare stick." She  
snorted angrily, then took a breath and calmed down, a pained look  
passing across her face.

"Have you read many children's books lately, Methos?" she asked.   
He shook his head, wondering where the sudden turn was going.

"I've had occasion to." She said quietly, looking a little  
faraway. "It's funny how they can see things so clearly sometimes. Not   
just the old stories, but the new ones too. The Dark is Rising, for   
instance. Tis a set of books by Susan Cooper, great adventures.   
In the last one we see all the forces of the Dark. Some wear  
black, but some wear white. Dark reaches the people at the extremes.   
See the ones in black, they're the selfish ones. The twisted ones.   
Locked up in the darkness of their own heads. That's not MacLeod, I  
know. He'd die for a cause he believed in. But the ones in white,  
they're the ones blinded by their own shining ideas. Then there's David   
Eddings, the Malloreon. In that Dark is the one crouched in  
it's own perceived perfection. I could go on, if you like." She looked   
over at Methos with challenge in her eyes. He did not reply.   
"Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod. So sure of himself. Always knows   
the right from the wrong. And of course he was in the right when he   
killed his student, his son, young Richie Ryan who saw not even two   
dozen years, when he could have had forever. It was the demon's fault.   
See MacLeod is the champion, and he can do no wrong.   
You know Mr Eddings had it that the Light uses teamwork to get  
things done. There tis only the Dark chooses but a single champion.   
Tis the Dark's arrogance that thinks one man is perfect enough to do  
it all alone. Like a certain stubborn Scot you seem so fond of.   
Duncan MacLeod, of the Dark. For now and for so long as we're likely  
to live."

There was silence for a moment as Methos tried to think of what  
to say in the face of reasoning like that. He could see what she  
meant. He could even see how someone could think such reasoning could  
apply to Mac. It was just, she didn't know him. No one that spent  
time with him could see him that way.

&lt;&lt; So of course you aren't doubting him even a little. &gt;&gt; Methos  
thought to himself sarcastically.

Fact was, he * could * see the Highlander like that. Hadn't he  
thought his story about demons a sort of madness? But when  
friends go mad you get help for them, you don't take their head.

"Erin... You keep on saying he doesn't repent what he's done,  
that he just gets on with his life. Well that is not the MacLeod I  
know. I don't think he has forgiven himself for anything in his life."

"Oh, so he mopes around a bit, indulges in angst for a while.  
Doesn't seem to slow him down any racking up bedpost notches.   
And it hardly makes up for what he has done."

"You said killing Richie was irredeemable. But you also talked  
about redeeming demons. Surely Duncan isn't quite a demon yet?"

"So he hasn't the practice and doesn't go out looking for  
converts. Yet. You think he can be redeemed? What penance would you   
give him, a man who kills his own child? I can think of none that would   
be equal to the deed, none in this life at least and none that fits what   
time we have left here."

"So you would condemn him, say his soul is lost, for one  
mistake?"

"Mistake, that he swung a sword through a man's neck? And  
hardly once. Not even once these past few years! He goes around  
picking fights, taking heads I can't see as justified. Friends, lovers,   
student, all dead. For goodness sake, Methos, he's been killing *   
mortals *."

"He defended himself. We are all warriors. Duncan MacLeod has  
always tried to fight for what is right."

"You think that makes up for it? News flash, lover, watch his  
actions, not his justifications."

"His motives are always good."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Come on, love,  
arguments like that make it too easy. Almost like you're really  
on my side anyway."

"I'm * not * going to kill Duncan. He's a good man."

"A man who kills and walks away happy. A man who wipes out his  
friends and kills his students and then just gets on with his  
life, hides out for just a year then turns up laughing and dating like  
nothing has happened. How can a man with that little heart be  
called a good man? He * killed * his * student *."

"In case you forget I'm not exactly innocent when it comes to  
killing friends. Or killing without remorse. In fact I'd say he looks   
pretty amateur in comparison."

"The horsemen thing. I know. So maybe in a few thousand years  
he'll be tolerable again too. But we don't * have * those thousand  
years. We might not even have a year. The Gathering is here, and many  
are saying that the Highlander is the one with the best chance of  
the Prize. If they knew you were backing him there wouldn't be much  
argument about it."

"I wouldn't say I was backing him precisely.."

"Lady's sake, Methos, you offered him your head. Name three  
others you'd do that for. Not me, however long you've known me, and  
that's a fact."

"Is that what this is about? That I offered him my head, and  
not you? Is that what you want from me?"

"Methos! Never. I couldn't raise a sword to you. My head's  
yours whenever you want it, you know that."

"Actually I didn't."

"I did tell you."

"In about 1350 wasn't it? And I rather thought you were drunk  
at the time."

"Never more sober, or serious. As * I * recall that was why you  
decided on another little trip to Tibet. Without me."

"Really, Erin, I thought we'd worked that out."

"Oh, I'm not mad about it. We did a rather good job of making  
up next time we bumped into each other." smirk.

Methos was again tempted to fall back into that old pattern and  
try and get her to forget this crazy plan that way, but in the  
thousand years he had known her she had never once given up on a   
'lesson' once it was started, however uncomfortable it had become for   
her. He sighed and got back to the matter at hand.

"Erin... I can't let you kill MacLeod."

"So take my head and problem's solved." she replied quiet and  
calm.

He winced. He knew he should have seen that one coming, but it  
still hurt. "Don't say that. I love you."

"And I love you. Which is why I'm not going to wait around for  
the next time the Scot goes nuts and kills whichever friend is  
handy." Erin admitted, looking at the floor.

Methos paused and looked at her. "Please don't tell me you are  
going to kill my friend for * my * own good. I can understand you  
being angry with him, but to do this for me..."

"Methos, I love you. A thousand years I've known you, I've  
rather become used to the idea of having you around. Most of the time  
I can even let myself not worry about you. You're more than twice as  
old as me, you can take care of yourself. But with this one  
friend... maybe you think you see something in him. Maybe you have some   
convoluted plan for getting through the Gathering. Or maybe you  
don't want to live through the Gathering. I can't figure it out. But   
the more I learn about MacLeod, the more sure I become that as  
long as he lives you have a sword at your back that could turn  
on you at any moment. A man that could kill his son could kill anyone.   
And I know you could not beat him if he tried for you."

"So you'll kill him to protect me? Come on Erin, that's never  
been your style. Judge, jury and executioner. Tisiphone the  
avenger. Not anyone's bodyguard."

"Well I've never had need before. And I've never.. felt so much  
for anyone before."

"Erin, I care about Mac. He's a friend. Don't kill him."

"Oh, I don't intend to kill him. I intend to get you to kill  
him."

"I told you. I will not take his head. Not even you could talk  
me into it."

"Oh, I don't know, I can be pretty persuasive." Erin said  
archly, smiling at him and finishing her beer.

Methos made a peeved, stick to the topic face, which Erin  
ignored. She tossed her now empty bottle in the general direction of the   
bin, then snagged her bag and pulled it over to her. She rummaged  
around and found a couple of boxes which she pulled out and placed on  
the couch between them.

"Enough shop talk for the night, I think. Time for supper."

Methos sighed and flipped the boxes open. He recognised the  
menu within. It was what they had for their last meal together, also  
in Paris a hundred years ago. Actually, it was what Erin made for  
him whenever she was feeling amorous. She was a creature of habit  
in many ways.

"Erin.. I'm not happy with you, remember?"

Erin raised a finger and corrected him with a smile. "You are  
annoyed with me. We have done the arguing, now we can do the  
making up afterwards."

"And then you'll go do whatever you have planned anyway."

"So we get to make up again later." She replied with her best  
cute and innocent shrug, then grinned. "Love... I call you all the  
time, but when was the last time we were on the same continent, let  
alone in the same bedroom?"

"We're not in the bedroom."

"Yet."

Methos sighed and tried not to grin. She didn't change. "I  
think you take me too much for granted, my love." he said, gently  
caressing her cheek.

"I just know you. Not often enough, but I do know you." she  
whispered, leaning forwards and kissing him.

***  
Methos woke the next morning and reached sleepily across the bed  
for Erin, then woke up fully and realised she was gone. He could  
not sense her presence. She had left without another word. Well,  
he had done it enough times, he supposed it was only fair. Still, it  
did leave the problem with MacLeod. Sometimes it seemed the Scot  
provided him with more problems than anyone else.

He had not managed to persuade Erin to change her mind about  
Mac, though it had been a lot of fun trying. That left him with few  
palatable choices. He got up and decided to try and tackle the  
problem from the other end.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Mac returned from his morning run to feel the presence of  
another Immortal in his barge. He got out his katana and stepped inside   
carefully, then saw Methos sprawled on his sofa with one of the  
beers he had only just stocked up on again after his last visit.

"Methos. Has it ever occurred to you to wait until you're  
invited."

"Well since I'm here to do you a favour I didn't think you would mind."

"Is this about Tisiphone?"

"You might say so. I have tickets to Iceland and reservations  
at a little hotel there. It seemed to me now was the perfect time to  
take a little holiday."

"You mean to run and hide."

"It's always worked for me." Methos shrugged.

"Well it isn't my style. If she wants to fight me, she just has  
to pick a time and place. I've had enough of her stupid taunts. I  
am not about to run away from her. And to Iceland? Why there of  
all places?"

"It's just somewhere neither of us are in the habit of going.   
She might not think to look for us there for a while. Why risk your  
head over this? You see a little more of the world, we stay low  
until she gets over it."

"I can almost understand you trying to get me away from here.   
But why worry about yourself? Just because she's seen you, you  
think she'll come after you?"

"In a way she already has. She was at my place last night, kept  
babbling about you being the child of dark and how you being  
arrogant and fighting everything alone makes you of the dark. Sounded  
very mystical from one who claims not to believe in all that about  
demons. But she was very serious."

"She was at your apartment? And you think she would figure out  
where we were if we went to any of our usual places. You don't think  
she would just give up and move on to the next Immortal on her  
list?"

"She knows a lot about us. Erin's very thorough, and she  
doesn't give up. It isn't about Immortals, it's her ideas of right and   
wrong and making sure people get what they deserve."

"I'm surprised she let you walk away then, if she knows anything  
about you. Hang on, Erin?"

&lt;&lt; Bother. Me, making a slip like that. &gt;&gt; "Her other name.   
For days she isn't hunting madmen."

"So now you are calling me a madman."

"I'm just saying that all that about Ahriman and Demons can look  
very bad. It's not that I don't believe you.."

"Oh isn't it? You never believed me in the first place. You  
said I needed help. Well right now, I could do without your kind of  
help. Get out."

"MacLeod..."

"Get out! I can handle this, I can handle her, I do not need  
your help and I am not about to run away. So you can just leave and  
let me get on with my morning in peace."

Methos sighed, got up to leave. He should have known better  
really. The stubborn Scot would never be pushed into anything. Maybe if   
he'd tried a little reverse psychology... but telling him to fight  
her was just what Mac wanted to do anyway, and changing his mind was not   
something Mac was good at. "I really hope you're right, about  
being able to handle her. But if you do need any help..."

"I won't." MacLeod said, pointing to the door.

Methos gave up for now and left. Maybe he should have just  
killed Mac and shipped the body out there... waiting for him to figure  
out how to get back from Iceland with no money or passport should at  
least have given him time... maybe he would try that, if he  
couldn't talk Erin round...

***

The afternoon sun shone in her eyes as Erin stripped off her  
gloves and dropped them in the river next to MacLeod's barge. So far  
so good, and so much easier than the old days. Buying drugs on a  
street corner instead of mucking about with gathering herbs in the wet  
and taking hours or days to prepare them was about the only good  
thing to the whole drug epidemic. Of course MacLeod having an  
independent water supply made delivery so much simpler too. Now she  
wandered off, trying to act casual even though she knew MacLeod was  
likely to be back very soon. She made it to a nearby street before she   
felt the buzz.

&lt;&lt; Damn. Now he knows I was here. Well, better give him a  
reason, or he just might have the brains to get paranoid. &gt;&gt;

"MacLeod!" she called out as soon as she saw him. He walked  
over and stopped a few paces away, his hand in his coat, but she wasn't   
going to challenge him on the street and he was not about to go down any   
more alleys with her.

"What do you want, Erin?"

"So the old man told you about me. Pity. Really thought he and  
I could be partners on this one."

"Adam told me you talked to him. Something about me being the  
child of dark. I don't see what my birthday has to do with anything."

Erin smiled calmly. "Do you know, I didn't even make that  
connection. Been too long since the stars were my calendar I  
suppose. No, I just meant that you are the kind of bastard who  
could brighten up the world just by leaving it."

"Which you think you can make sure I do. Well, leave the  
crossbow somewhere else and you are welcome to try."

"I'll do better than try, MacLeod. A man like you cannot be  
left loose in the world." Erin said, her voice going icy calm.

"A man like me? A man that will fight to stop Immortals as  
twisted as you from gaining the prize?"

"A man who has the arrogance to believe that he alone is the  
chosen one and all he does is justified by that. A man who can kill  
his son and then just wander off and get on with his life like nothing  
happened."

"What was I supposed to do - give up my sword? Let another Kalas  
or Kronos take my head, and leave Ahriman free, unstoppable? You've  
said it is a sign of darkness to face the final fight alone. But  
isn't that what we do? All of us? Even so, it takes friends to get us  
that far, to get us to that conflict with enough of our souls intact  
we care about the outcome. Adam and Joe were those friends to me,  
Erin. Believe me, there was nothing more that I wanted than for Adam  
to take my head and end that pain! But he wouldn't. When I ran away  
to Malaysia, I wanted nothing more than to hide out there for the  
rest of my miserable life, but Adam &amp; Joe made me come back. How  
could I condemn them, and the rest of the human race to a millennium of   
hell under Ahriman, because of my own self-pity and loathing. Ahriman   
was MY responsibility. You want to talk about souls? Fine. If I hid away   
and left him to ravage the earth, the curses, the damage done to my   
soul, my karma or whatever, would be a hundred, a thousand times worse   
than the damage done by Richie's death. If that had  
happened, you would have every right to take my head, and I wouldn't   
even be standing here arguing with you; but I have to get on with my  
life - the last thing Richie would want is for his death to bring me  
down with him."

"Noble words, MacLeod," Erin snapped. "But all your rationalisation  
and good deeds can't change the fact that you committed murder.  
You've cut down old friends for less than that, haven't you?"

Duncan paled and looked down, fiddling with the sleeve of his  
coat.  
"Every word is true." He raised his head and fixed his piercing  
gaze on her. "And Adam knows that anytime he wants it, my head is  
his. He, Amanda and Connor are the ONLY ones I will give it up to. I may   
hate my self, but I'm not so far gone that I'll give my head to any   
Immortal who waltzes in here, playing avenging angel."

"I'm no angel. Don't believe in them. And the only demons in  
this world are those in the human heart, like the ones that you try  
and keep in the back of your twisted little mind. Only sometimes  
they come out and play, don't they MacLeod? Your very own demon. Of  
course you are the only one that can beat it. And if I wanted your  
head, I would have it by now. Remember? You disgust me. I wouldn't want   
your Quickening. I wouldn't want you near me, let alone in me. That's   
probably why Methos and Amanda are letting you live. As for  
Connor, he wouldn't kill a student, even a mad one. He is a MacLeod with   
honour. You... you bring more shame to the name than I ever  
thought possible."

Erin turned on her heel and stalked off.

&lt;&lt; A voice from the grave is definitely in order. &gt;&gt;

***

Mac stormed into the barge fuming and shoved his weekly shop  
into the right cupboards, more or less. How dare she? How dare she come   
waltzing in and pass judgement on him like that? Why didn't she  
just challenge him and get it over with?

He found one of the bags was a little torn, and ripped it in  
half before throwing it in the bin. Then he noticed how he was  
acting.

&lt;&lt; * That * is why. Keep acting like that and she may yet have  
your head. &gt;&gt; He chided himself.

He got himself a snack and a glass of water, then went to sit  
and calm down. What he really wanted right now was scotch, but if  
he was angry * and * drunk she wouldn't even have to work at it, so  
water it was.

By the evening, he had drunk several glasses. For some reason  
he just seemed to get more thirsty.

He had tried to calm down, think about something else entirely.   
He put on some opera, but that brought back that night and when he  
and Richie were walking back from the opera. He changed it for  
something classical and soothing, but now the memories were welling up   
and everything reminded Mac of his young friend.

Duncan rubbed both hands across his tired face, scrubbing  
wearily at his eyes. Leaving. If only he could. Instead he stood   
alone in the middle of his rapidly crumbling life, reflected in the   
Spartan atmosphere of the barge. &lt;&lt; How did I get here? How did my life   
go so wrong? &gt;&gt; No, running away was not an option - whatever  
Methos thought. Running away for a year had not brought Richie back,  
nor would it help now. But what if Tisiphone is right? He shook his  
head, trying to make sense of his confused thoughts as he crossed to  
the tiny corner kitchenette and filled the tea kettle with fresh  
water from the tap. &lt;&lt; Order. Clarity. &gt;&gt; The gentle strains of a  
minuet behind him did nothing to calm his turbulent emotions. Setting   
the water to boiling, Duncan reached automatically for the top cabinet   
to the left, then realised he had packed away the ceremonial gold and   
ivory inlaid tea set along with the other remnants of his former life.   
So instead he went two shelves lower and pulled out the slightly   
chipped, but still serviceable bone-white ceramic set.

Mac stared into the empty floor of the barge; he hadn't a low  
table, or the familiar reed-woven mats that normally accompanied the  
ancient Zen ritual. As steam began to rise from the black kettle,  
MacLeod reluctantly dragged a short oak chest from its place along wall   
to the centre of the floor and arranged the teapot, cups, and a  
single candle, his hands caressing the wood. The chest contained the  
few items of value he had allowed himself to keep; his katana was  
one of them, the other a picture of Richie, Tessa and Mac at Christmas.   
&lt;&lt; More deaths on my head. &gt;&gt;

The kettle shrieked from the stove, breaking into his reverie.  
Scattering loose tea into the clay teapot, Duncan rose to his  
feet and crossed back to the stove, turning off the flame and cutting  
the kettle off in mid-scream. &lt;&lt; Focus. &gt;&gt; Duncan knelt at the  
foot of the makeshift table and poured the water into the pot, inhaling   
the soothing herbs that complemented the sandalwood scented candle. He   
forced his mind back into forgotten patterns, seeking a centre of   
consciousness. But the inexplicably nagging thirst from before tugged   
impatiently at his thoughts, and his hands shook as moved the candle,   
spilling wax over the sides. An unnatural sense of  
haste disrupted the calming rite. Muttering in Japanese under his  
breath, Duncan sipped at the hot tea, scalding his tongue. Setting the   
cup down in the proscribed manner, he swallowed awkwardly; the tea's   
usual mellow flavour was tainted by the tiniest hint of  
bitterness, and the warm golden colour was touched by a vague   
cloudiness.

Duncan finished the ceremony without success after attempting to  
lose himself in the light meditation practice. The tips of his  
fingers trembled where they rested on the cool wood. Beneath the  
surface of the genteel setting, a vicious weapon lay. A sword that had   
killed a friend. Duncan imagined it still stained with his student's   
blood. &lt;&lt; Richie,&gt;&gt; his brain whispered. Swearing suddenly in Gaelic,   
Duncan leapt to his feet, angrily sweeping everything to the floor. His   
abrupt rage disappearing, MacLeod stared, shaking at the wreckage at his   
feet.

&lt;&lt; What's happening to me? &gt;&gt;

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

MacLeod lay on the warehouse floor, body aching from sharing the  
combined Quickenings of Silas and Kronos with Methos. Again. As  
he stared up at the shattered ceiling, he could hear Methos' harsh  
breathing a few feet away. Duncan slowly rolled to his knees,  
groaning as every muscle in his body protested, and rested his  
head in his hands. His mind whirling and his thoughts caught up in  
all the revelations of the past several days, Duncan barely registered  
the presence of another Buzz, until he heard the soft footsteps. He  
raised his head - and froze. Cassandra, eyes aflame, held her  
sword triumphantly at Methos' neck. "Don't move, Highlander, and don't  
try to stop me. Methos must pay for his crimes!"

"No, Cassandra don't, please!" Duncan reached out a beseeching  
hand. His eyes blurred, and he could barely make out her small form.  
He blinked furiously, trying to clear his head.

"You can't possibly understand. You don't know what it's like,  
that feeling of betrayal." Cassandra's voice was gone, replaced by  
Richie's.

The Highlander cleared his eyes and could only stare in horror,  
as Richie, dressed as he had been that fatal night at the  
racetrack, cackled madly. Bright blue eyes gleamed with hatred as Richie   
raised his rapier over Methos' kneeling form. "Ooh, what's this? I think   
I see a demon!" Richie spat. "Well, gotta kill him, save the human race   
and all that." He pulled back, and swung.

"NOOO!" Duncan yelled, rushing forward, as Richie's sword  
cleared Methos' head by inches - and Erin poised her sword against  
Duncan's neck. "Now, Highlander, you know."

She turned, and neatly lopped off his head with a back swing.  
His last sight was of Methos, still kneeling on the floor at Erin's  
feet. Smiling.

He stood in the back of Darius' church, breathing in the heavy,  
sweet cloud of incense. The candles were lit, the Bible propped open  
on the altar, and the extra chairs assembled, all in readiness for  
Mass. Still, a nagging sense of unease pricked the back of his mind.  
Duncan inhaled the cloying incense again and realised what was wrong;  
the incense was cold, the brazier that burned it had gone out.  
Choked with fear, remembering the awful sight of Darius' body at the  
foot of the altar, Duncan hurried forward, knocking the fold out chairs   
aside. Panic chasing him, he burst through the last of the  
chairs and stumbled over Richie's headless body. "RICHIE!" Duncan   
screamed as he dropped to his knees beside him.

"Pity, isn't it?" A quiet, accented voice spoke behind him. "He  
was so young." Trembling, Duncan lifted his head as he recognised  
the voice.

"It can't be. You're dead." He refused to turn around. "I found  
you *here*, myself. Where Richie is now."

"Yes, I know," Darius' voice held an edge of laughter, "it was  
quite funny, to watch you all get taken in by that Light Quickening  
nonsense, even Methos. He should really know better by now. Did  
you really think one fat friar could stop the greatest general since  
Alexander? What better way to await the Gathering? Live on holy  
ground, watch the rest of you fools kill each other off, and  
then I emerge to challenge the last."

Duncan barely listened to Darius plan for the Prize. His brain  
was caught on the truth of Darius' 'Light Quickening.' "Darius, if  
there was no Light Quickening for you, then..."

"Yes, there was no Dark Quickening for you, either. Just the  
madness of your little mind." Darius laughed. "Koltec was never anything   
more than a clever charlatan. And no amount of Evian 'mountain spring   
water' would make any sort of a difference."

Duncan's eyes filled with tears as he stared at the mutilated  
body of the son he had failed to protect. "Forgive me, Richie." Numbly,   
he rose to his feet, drew his katana and turned to face his old friend   
and mentor. Darius rested his folded hands on the hilt of  
Richie's rapier, its bloodstained blade clashing angrily with his  
priest's robes. It wasn't until Duncan met Darius' dark, flashing eyes  
that he noticed the mist, tainted red, seeping up through the cracks in   
the stone floor, rising behind the traitor priest in a blood-red  
wall. And then the bells started, no longer singing in sweet, even  
tones, but clanging harshly and frantically, as though a madman was at  
the bell ropes. Duncan jerked his gaze upwards, distracted by the  
bells until Darius slashed through his midsection. Duncan fell to his  
knees, and couldn't bring his sword to bear as Darius aimed the  
final stroke at his unprotected neck. The red mist filled Duncan's  
vision as the bells continued to jangle in his ears.

Duncan fell out of bed. He shook his head, trying to clear the  
ringing in his ears before he realised it was the phone.  
Reaching up to the night stand, he picked up the receiver with one hand   
and turned the light on with the other, looking for the clock. Who would   
be calling him at three o'clock in the morning?

"Hello?"

"Mac?" Duncan dropped the phone in shock. "Mac, why'd you do  
it?" Richie's voice, still boyishly plaintive, sounded tinny from the  
floor.

With shaking hands, Duncan reached for the receiver.

"Richie?" He whispered, then suddenly angry, "Who is this? Do  
you think this is funny?" He slammed the phone down. It immediately  
rang again. Duncan stared at it as he would a poisonous snake. The  
phone continued to ring demandingly. He had to pick it up. If there  
was any chance that Richie was alive… He picked it up.

"Mac, don't do this to me. I trusted you!"

"Richie, I..."

"Wasn't it enough that you came for my head before? Did you  
really have to kill me? What sort of champion does that make you?"  
Richie's voice was still pleading, but an angry note crept into it. "And   
then you carry on, like nothing ever happened?"

"Rich, if I could change what happened, don't you think I  
would?" Duncan cried in anguish. "I would give up my head, if it would  
bring you back!"

"Oh, very noble, MacLeod, but it wouldn't change what you did to  
me. How could you? How could you so casually murder your own  
student?"

"It wasn't murder! I... it was... an accident." Duncan's voice  
dropped to a whisper.

"What will it take, MacLeod? You've always been a believer in  
justice. When will justice be done for me?" The phone line went  
dead.

"Richie..." Duncan's voice broke. The confusion, anger and fear  
he had banished in the peace of the monastery returned full force,  
and tears ran down his face unchecked.

***

The sun rose, unnoticed, as Duncan MacLeod sat amidst the shards  
of what had been his life. The phone rang a few times, but Mac did  
not answer straight away. His tears had run out hours ago, and just  
the ache remained, the empty feeling that had again overwhelmed him.

But not really empty. That was the problem. Somewhere inside,  
he knew, was Richie. Richie's Quickening, Richie's memories, all  
that Richie had thought and felt. Maybe what he had felt about him.   
It came out in dreams, didn't it? All those dreams. Richie hated  
him, he knew it. And why should he not? Mac had betrayed him.  
Murdered him.

The answer phone picked up, and Mac picked up something to throw  
at it as his own cheerful voice told the caller to leave a message  
at the tone. But then he thought, it might be Richie again. Or  
had he ever really called? Mac didn't know for sure. He couldn't  
trust his own memories, his own mind. He really was mad.

The answer phone bleeped and a familiar voice started to speak.   
not the one he had hoped for, but almost as good. Tisiphone.

"Good morning Highlander. Sleep well, or did the demons come  
out to play again?" she started to speak on the tape.

Mac picked up the receiver and said to her. "Tisiphone. No  
more games. When and where?"

She caught the change in his tone of voice. He wasn't telling  
her to stop the games, it didn't sound like that. He was... empty,  
hopeless, resigned. Like he knew. Like he finally understood  
what he deserved.

Perfect.

She told him where to find her, and he just said "Alright."

As Erin hung up, she felt the delicious thrill of victory,  
sweeter than honey. Then she reprimanded herself. Think like that and   
she would end up like the ones she taught.

Besides, there was one more player to get into place.

As MacLeod was leaving for their meeting, sword in coat but no  
particular determination in his step, Erin again phoned Methos.

It took a while for him to answer. First thing in the morning  
was not his best time. Eventually, he picked up, with an irritated  
"Hello?"

"Adam. Your friend MacLeod. Do you know where he is right  
now?" she said, and then hung up as he started to ask if she'd lost him.   
Then she got in her car and left before MacLeod got far enough down the   
street to feel her.

***

Methos burst into Mac's barge and looked around, for the  
Highlander's body or any clue to his whereabouts. Thankfully there was   
no sign of a recent Quickening, and Methos began to think that maybe   
Erin was toying with him, maybe Mac had just gone out for a run or   
something.

The light on the answer phone was blinking, probably from the  
three increasingly worried calls he had made on the way there. Well,  
no need for the Highlander to hear those. Methos pressed play to  
let them be erased next call. And heard an interesting assortment  
of calls.

First was Erin, or rather Tisiphone. There was a definite  
difference in the way they spoke. It was something about his lover that   
rather worried him. But then, who among them never had trouble keeping   
their different identities straight?

Then was a call that made him feel sick. Damn Erin, how the  
hell had she managed that? Probably some trick with tapes and   
computers. Richie Ryan, to the life, and plaintively asking Mac why he'd   
killed him. Damn her, that was going too far.

But the next call on the tape was what really scared him. Not  
Erin's mocking good morning, but the tone of Duncan's voice as he  
picked up and answered her.

Like he was already dead.

As soon as he heard the address she gave Methos was out the door  
and back in his car, leaving as fast as he could drive in the empty,  
early morning streets. He had to get there fast, to save his  
friend. Because by the sound of it he wasn't interested in saving  
himself.

***

By the time MacLeod arrived at the appointed place on foot Erin  
had parked and was standing waiting for him, sword in hand, face  
like a mask. Or a statue to some avenging goddess.

MacLeod looked around and got out his sword. The area was run  
down and would probably stay quiet. So, they could get this over  
with without interruptions.

"I'm ready." he said simply, bringing his sword up. No proud  
declaration of his name today. Not for this.

"You know why?" Tisiphone asked. "You do understand?"

"To avenge Richie."

"And protect the living. You killed your son, you could kill  
anyone."

Mac winced and nodded. "Just get on with it."

Erin nodded too, and attacked.

She was good. No doubt about it, had she challenged MacLeod a  
few days ago he might even have had trouble defeating her. But a  
lot can change in a few days, and Mac had no intention of winning. Erin   
could see that, feel it in the way he was fighting, hardly  
defending himself.

"What? The proud Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod only  
amounts to this?" Tisiphone taunted, swinging at him, he blocked and  
dodged away, a flare of anger in the back of his brain. "A child could   
beat you." Duncan swung at her more seriously. "How you ever beat   
young Ryan I don't know." Tisiphone blocked and said, and as the  
words brought his guilt home to him once again she twisted her sword  
and his katana was wrenched out of his fingers. Reflexively he  
dropped and rolled to try and grab it again, but Erin was there first,  
and as he came up her sword was at his neck.

He froze, dropped his hand back to his side. He looked up into  
Tisiphone's eyes and the judgement he saw there was only what he  
deserved.

"Do it." he whispered.

Erin smiled.

Right then Methos' car came whipping around the corner and  
pulled up. He jumped out before it had even fully stopped, his sword in   
his hand.

&lt;&lt; Right on time. &gt;&gt; Thought Erin.

"Stay back, Adam. It's over." MacLeod yelled over to him.

"No! Erin, don't kill him." Methos yelled, running up and  
stopping just a few steps away.

"Why not?" Erin challenged.

"You don't want to." he said. She raised an eyebrow. he  
continued quickly "Because if you do I will probably have to kill you,   
or at the very least never see you again."

"Then I would miss you. But not half as much as I'd miss you if  
he killed you. And as for my head, you can have it, but this  
bastard's head is * mine *."

"Erin, let him live."

"Like he let Richie live? Why?"

"He's a good man, he.."

"Yes, I've heard. I've heard all your reasons, but what I need  
is one * good * reason. And I don't think you have one." Erin  
replied icy calm.

Methos stood and desperately tried to think of something that  
hadn't already been said.

"Come on Adam, just one reason. One good reason that I can't  
refute and I let him live." Erin said, standing there with her sword to   
MacLeod's neck.

Methos stood there helplessly. She had heard all his reasons.  
What could he say that might work? That he loved him? Erin would just  
laugh, and it would be a hundred years before Mac could look him  
in the eye again without blushing. Not that he would have a hundred  
years.

He fingered the gun in his pocket. That was his last option. And  
even ignoring the Rules, this was Erin. And she really did have a  
point about the boy scout.

He watched as she raised her sword, his fingers tightening  
around the gun as he came to his decision... then saw her reverse her   
sword and sheath it. She booted the Highlander in the back and he   
sprawled forwards on the ground.

The Highlander and the Oldest Immortal were equally confused  
right then. All this and she wouldn't..? Then Erin stepped forwards  
and picked up MacLeod's katana. For a moment they thought she would  
use that, but she instead walked over to where a lamp post was right  
up against the wall, and wedged the blade in the gap. She looked  
at the beautiful sword for a moment with regret, as MacLeod picked  
himself up again, then sighed and pulled back with all her  
immortal strength.

The sword broke. There were a few sparks and a feeling like the  
ghost of a quickening. Then she threw the hilt down next to the broken  
blade.

Mac saw what had happened and whispered no. The dull hopeless  
look in his eyes was replaced by real pain. His katana was shattered.

Methos blinked and collected his thoughts. Erin walked past him  
towards her car, totally ignoring MacLeod. As she passed Methos  
turned to walk with her and said dryly "Did you have to do that?  
It was a nice sword."

She paused a moment to let him catch up, then replied "It was  
either do it in symbol or do it in true, and as I'm letting him live I  
really don't want to give Amanda another reason to come after  
me."

"So.. what was your one good reason?"

"You asking because you still can't think of one?" she asked,  
not precisely teasing. Then she shrugged. "What good are enemies if  
they aren't around to know they are beat. That and what Riddler said  
to Two-Face."

" 'If you kill him, he won't learn nothing'? " Methos guessed the  
quote she meant.

"Personally I think he won't learn anyway, but you think you see  
something in him." She got to the car and calmly unlocked it and  
got in. "So he's your problem now. You keep an eye on him." She told  
him through the window as she put the keys in the ignition. She  
paused and added "And if he kills you, I will not hesitate to kill him,   
whatever he says. So if it was your idea, do be sure to tell me  
in advance."

"Believe me I have every intention of keeping my head right  
where it is."

"Good. I rather like it there myself." she grabbed the front of  
his sweater, pulled him towards her, leant forwards and kissed him.  
"I'll see you in another hundred years or so." she told him when they  
finally stopped for breath.

"I'll miss you."

"Sure you will. And you'll get married again while I'm gone. I  
know you, remember?" she started the engine, then looked over at  
MacLeod and her face went blank. "Want some free advice about your  
'friend'? Keep him on a leash, and don't turn your back."

Methos nodded and stepped clear of the car, privately admitting  
to himself she could well be right about that too. Erin just drove  
off. It would probably be that hundred years before they met in  
person again, but he thought in a month or two she would call him. He  
decided if she did he wouldn't mention it to MacLeod.

He turned and walked back over to his friend. MacLeod looked  
wrung out and confused, just standing there with the pieces of his  
sword in his hands. Methos put a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on. I think we could both do with a beer."

***********************************************************************  
-THE END-

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes- beccaelizabeth  
> Tisiphone ("avenger") one of three pre Hellenic goddesses who enforced   
> matriarchal rules, later known variously as the furies, the strong ones,   
> or the kindly ones. (Anyone guessed I'm a Sandman fan yet?)


End file.
